


The Kids Are Alright

by Radiday



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiday/pseuds/Radiday
Summary: Guilt eats Fred alive.





	The Kids Are Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Can I ever write Fred without trauma? Probably not.

Archie tries to hide his surprise when he opens the front door and sees FP Jones standing there, leather jacket and all. “Mr. Jones, what’s up?”

“Hey Archie," FP says, pulling a toothpick out of his mouth. "Is your dad home?”

“Uh, yeah, but he’s upstairs lying down. He’s got a migraine.” He pauses awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. “I can, uh, go get him for you.” He steps aside, letting FP come in.

FP waves his hand as he steps up into the house. “No, no. It’s nothing important,” he says, before clicking his tongue and glancing around the house, his eyes finally landing on the fridge. “He ask for juice yet?”

Archie furrows his brows in confusion. “No. Does he do that? This is the first migraine he’s had in a while.”

FP lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. He used to get them all the time in high school. You’d know he was feeling better when he asked for juice. You got some?” he asks, nodding to the fridge.

“Yeah, I think so. Should I take it up to him?”

“Nah,” FP says, moving to the fridge. “I’ll do it. You go back to doing whatever you’re doing.”

Archie nods hesitantly and moves back to his spot on the couch, but continues to watch FP’s every move.

FP fills a glass with orange juice before meeting Archie’s eyes and smiling, nodding to the stairs. “I’ll just go see if he wants this.”

“Okay,” Archie says, but FP’s already out of sight, climbing the stairs towards the master bedroom.

It’s late afternoon, but FP knows the room will be pitch black. He knocks too quietly and doesn’t hear Fred respond, so he delicately opens the door.

“Freddy?” he whispers.

FP squints to adjust his eyes to the drawn curtains. Fred’s laying on top of the covers on his side, back turned towards the door. He’s still in his work clothes - the signature flannel and jeans he’s worn since he started the job at 16.

He hears Fred groan in response, so he slips into the room, avoiding the creaky spots on the old hardwood floor, and sits on the bed next to where Fred’s curled up.

“You feel like opening your eyes?” FP coaxes.

“Not yet,” Fred mumbles in response, his mouth barely moving.

FP smiles silently and unconsciously runs a hand through Fred’s thinning hair. “There’s juice on the nightstand when you’re up for it.”

Fred nods ever so slightly and swallows before asking, “’S everything okay?”

FP nods before realizing Fred’s eyes are still closed. “Yeah, buddy. I just came by to say hi.”

Fred hums in response. “’Kay,” he slurs, and then sucks in a breath that settles into a steady, deep sound that lets FP know he’s asleep.

He runs another hand through Fred’s hair then gets up and readjusts the curtain, eliminating the light that had begun to peek through with the setting sun, and finally slips out of the room, leaving Fred to wonder if it was only a dream.

Jughead comes over before FP leaves, just as surprised to see his father as Archie was.

“Dad?” he says as he closes the front door, watching his dad descend from the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Came over to talk to Fred, but he wasn’t feeling well. Just checking up,” FP says, patting his son on the shoulder.

“Is he okay?” Jughead asks Archie.

Archie, who’s made himself comfortable on the couch with his homework, looks up. “Migraine. He said he’ll be fine. Just needs some sleep,” he says, but there’s something in his voice that sounds like he’s trying to convince himself too.

“He will be,” FP chimes in. He stands at the entryway of the living room, hands shoved in his pockets, watching his son settle next to Archie and pull out his laptop. “Archie, do you mind if I stick around?”

“You’re gonna stay?” Jughead says, eyebrows raised.

FP shrugs. “Yeah, if that’s okay,” he says, nodding to Archie. “Just to keep an eye on your dad. Let you boys finish your homework.”

Archie tries not to look confused. “Sure, that’s fine with me. Dad’ll be happy to see you.”

“Great. You boys hungry? I can make grilled cheese or something.”

Archie smiles, nodding, while Jughead shoots his father a look that says, ‘Do you even need to ask?’

FP laughs. “Grilled cheese it is.”

* * *

 

Archie and Jughead had devoured their sandwiches while FP busied himself cleaning the pan he’d used to make them when they heard the sound of retching from the master bathroom. The boys looked at FP concerned and expectant, Archie making a move to head upstairs.

FP sticks out a hand to stop him. “I got it.”

FP wasn’t surprised. Fred always threw up when he had a migraine. While it concerned the boys, it was a sign that Fred was feeling better.

He entered the bedroom, which was still dark, making the light illuminating from the ajar bathroom door all the brighter.

Fred’s on his knees, head hanging down, knuckles white, hands gripping the edges of the toilet. He retches again, but nothing comes out.

FP wets the hand towel hanging above the sink and lays it on the back of Fred’s neck. “Easy now. You think you’re done?”

Fred nods, eyes still closed, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

FP guides Fred’s head up, running the cloth across his forehead, before letting Fred wipe his mouth with it.

“Wanna get up?”

“Yeah,” Fred mouths, but it tastes like bile. He flushes the toilet and hoists himself up with FP’s help, reaching for the mouthwash.

FP gives him a minute to clean up, settling on the side of the bed while he’s waiting. Fred emerges into the darkened bedroom and flicks on the bedside lamp.

“You okay with that?” FP asks, nodding to the light.

“Yeah,” he croaks, taking a moment to clear the bile out of his throat before reaching for the juice FP had left before.

“You feel better?”

Fred nods, swallowing the drink. “A little. Head hurts, just not as bad.” He takes another sip then asks, “Archie okay?”

FP hums, distracted by the tired lines on Fred’s face. “Oh, yeah. He and Jug are downstairs doing homework. I made them grilled cheese. I can make you one too if you want.”

FP wonders when the last time anyone did anything for Fred was. He wonders when the last time Fred let anyone do anything for him was. Fred was a man of pride, underneath the thick coat of parental intuition that he was born with, and FP knew he was still trying to prove to the world, and himself, that he could do it. That he could be a single father. That he could run his own business. That he could recover from getting shot in no time flat. FP wanted to help Fred, the way that Fred had helped him, taken in his son, raised him with as much love and support as he did Archie.

The problem was, he just didn’t think Fred would let him.

He couldn’t blame him. He’d lost count of the times he’d rebuffed Fred’s offers to help him get sober, help him get a job, help him get his life together.

But this wasn’t that. This was a damn migraine. He could help with this.

He's brought back when Fred says, “No thanks, not hungry.”

“It’s been a while since it’s been this bad,” FP says to his feet.

Fred hums in response, moving around the bed to his side, laying flat on his back.

FP moves so he’s sitting on the bed too, back resting against the headboard. “What’s eating you, Freddy?”

Fred furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You only ever get these headaches when there’s something bothering you.”

When Mary moved away to college, when his dad got sick, when Oscar died…

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

FP scoffs.

“Really, I swear.”

FP doesn’t respond at first, leaving the room filled with awkward silence. Finally, he says, “You don’t have to do this, you know. Not with me.”

It’s Fred’s turn to be silent, so FP keeps going. “Sometimes you just gotta let it out. You can’t be strong all the time.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil.”

FP sits up sharply. “I’m serious, Fred.” Fred, not Freddy. Almost as bad as when his mom calls him Frederick. “You can’t keep everything all bottled up and work until you run yourself into the ground. You got shot three months ago, for god’s sake!”

Fred sits up too, mirroring FP’s position. “Where is all this coming from?”

The way he says it lets FP know he’s winning. Fred’s voice isn’t demanding, or authoritative, but rather small, as if he’s been waiting for permission to feel and FP’s got the golden ticket.

“You protect my son, you let the Serpents into your home. It’s always been there, I’ve just never said it before.”

Fred sighs and runs a hand through his hair, collapsing back down against the pillows. “Hal Cooper shot me.”

There it is.

FP nods. “It’s fucked up.”

Fred turns his head to face FP. “I just don’t understand. Hal? Our Hal. We grew up with Hal. He has children. Oh god, his poor children.”

Fred runs a hand over his face, discretely wiping away the prickling tears before continuing. “I used to see him, you know. The Black Hood. Sometimes, I’d think I saw him in the house or on the street. And now every time I close my eyes I see Hal Cooper pointing a gun at my son and I just…” he shakes his head, voice to catching in his throat. “I just don’t know if I have it in me to keep these kids safe much longer.”

“Freddy, listen to me. You have one job. To keep Archie safe. And you do that, every day. You do it for Archie, for Jughead, Betty, Veronica, everyone. But it’s not your job to take care of them.”

“Who’s going to do it then? Betty’s father is a god damn serial killer. Alice is in some kind of cult. The Lodges are no better. And Jughead…” he trails off.

“No, you’re right,” FP says earnestly. “I wasn’t much of a father to Jughead. But I’m here now. Because of you. Look, these kids are tough-“

“They shouldn’t have to be.”

“But they are. For better or for worse, this is just how it is.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s a long pause before Fred speaks. “God,” he sighs. “What is with this town? Clifford Blossom kills his son, Hal Cooper torments his daughter. I mean, how much longer til…” 

FP turns to face him. “How much longer til what? Til we hurt our kids like that?”

Fred swallows tears.

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” FP asks, his voice quiet and gentle. “That you’re going to hurt Archie the way Cliff and Hal hurt their kids?”

Fred scrubs his face with his hands. “I just…”

“No,” FP says firmly, sitting up, demanding eye contact from Fred. “Listen to me, Fred. You will never hurt Archie like that. It’s not possible. You took a bullet for him. That’s not something you even have to worry about.”

Fred looks away. “That’s just it. What if I already have hurt him like that? I mean, Christ, he nearly had to watch me bleed to death. He started a vigilante gang, FP. God, and that Grundy woman. That’s statutory rape!”

“Fred…”

“Mary asked me to come with her when she left the first time. She wanted us all to move to Chicago. I said no, that he’d have a better life here. I did this to him.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!”

FP sighs, taking a minute to look at Fred. To really look at him. He’s exhausted, that much is clear. The lines on his face are deep, his eyebrows perpetually furrowed in never-ending concern. He’d lost weight during his recovery that he never gained back, not even close. Anyone that interacted with Fred could tell he had changed. He’d always been cautious when the children were concerned, but it had increased tenfold. He was wary and quiet, going through the motions. FP wondered when the last time Fred had had any fun was.

FP still doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for, “Archie loves this town.”

Fred doesn’t say anything, so FP continues. “He wouldn’t have met Veronica if you had moved to Chicago. Betty wouldn’t have had you and Archie to lean on after the shit her dad did. And Jughead,” he pauses, taking a breath. “Jughead would probably be sleeping on the street right now if you hadn’t stayed. You saved these kids, Freddy. You did that. Archie’s got friends that are going to be family for the rest of his life. Because of you.”

Fred gives him a thin smile. “I just wish I could believe that.”

FP sighs internally. Knowing that he couldn’t change Fred’s mind right this second, he decided the best thing to do would be to show him. Show him how everybody’s lives were better because he decided to keep himself and his son in Riverdale. “You know what we should do?” he asks.

“What?”

“A road trip. Down the coast. You, me, the boys, even Betty and Veronica. Let’s take them all.”

Fred raises his eyebrows. “A road trip? When would we ever do that?”

“Spring break is coming up.”

Fred laughs. “You know when spring break is?”

FP rolls his eyes. “Hey, I’m trying. So, what do you say?”

Fred sits up slightly, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh… yeah. Yeah, I guess that would be nice.”

“Well, great. Let’s go pitch it. We should probably head downstairs before the boys destroy the place, anyways.”

Fred laughs from his chest. “You have so little faith in our children.”

FP smiles brightly back at Fred. “Can you blame me? We raised them.”


End file.
